Drabbles
by linen-and-curls
Summary: Just some drabbles, mostly from the Virginia fiasco. All the things we wished happened. Second chapter is a whimsical FAX drabble involving Fang's POV and some embarrassing dreams - haha. Smuttish.
1. Kick Me!

All the things Max would do if she wouldn't get in trouble (or embarrassed) at the school in Virginia. Basically, everything we _wanted _to happen. Taking requests. Drabbles.

**Chapter 1 – "Kick Me!"**

_(This random boy in the shadows who likes to play the wallflower and is named) Greg's POV_

I've never been picked on before, but I have seen a lot of other people picking on people like me. The only reason they _don't_ pick on me is because I'm the Wallflower. That's kid terms. In the dictionary I'd be the person no one sees – and if they do, I'm just an ornament, nothing to pay attention to. In spy terms, I'd probably be a pavement artist. But in my terms, I'm just Greg. 

When the bully Roger pinned a "Kick Me!" sign on the back of the new kid's shirt, I had the same thoughts I always had when I watched someone being picked on. _Maybe I could help them_ – that's what I always ended up thinking. But I knew that if I came out of my shadows, Roger would look at me sideways like a confused puppy and ask "Who the hell are you?" because I'm not _there_. No one knows me. 

Lucky for the new kid, there were two other new kids who seemed pretty tough and capable. They also seemed to all know each other, and look out for each other. So when Roger stuck the "Kick Me!" sign on the kid's back, they both started forward. The girl was almost the entire playground away, and the boy was much closer but looked like he was being accosted by a gaggle of giggling girls. 

Roger was gone now, and the girl was only a few yards away. But one of Roger's cronies was about to take him up on his "Kick Me!" sign. Sniggering, he advanced upon the new kid – Jeff's – back. Anyone with eyes could see how this was going to turn out. Loser over there would sneak up and kick Jeff, fulfilling the "Kick Me!" sign. 

Of course, Loser didn't figure in Max, the new girl. 

In my corner I smirked vindictively. Loser was going to _get_ it. 

He drew back his leg. Jeff tensed, as if he knew someone was behind him, but wasn't sure what he was allowed to do. At least, that's what it looked like to me…I read body language pretty darn well, but I don't see how he could be wondering what he was _allowed_ to do…I'd be worrying about what the hell I _could_ do.

"Hey!" Max yelled at Loser. He jerked in surprise but didn't halt his leg's descent. 

In a blur of motion, Max was suddenly right in front of him, ramming him in the chest. He cried out girlishly, waving his arms as he fell. 

I actually laughed – it was quiet, but it was a definite sign of life. These new kids were _getting_ to me…

Max glared down evilly at Loser, then smiled brightly and took Jeff's hand. Together they walked, Max almost flouncing, Jeff kind of loping, but with less up/down movement, to where Max had been originally. Still holding hands, they flopped back on the grass, Jeff with his eyes closed, Max looking at the sky, lips moving quietly. 

I didn't know then, but she was telling him about the sun. 


	2. Fang's View

1

Part 2 of the Drabble Extravaganza – a super wonderful smutty story from Fang's point of view. I did this because I'm agitated about all the smut being from the girl's POV…it makes it seem like the guys get all the glory, and makes me feel, as a girl, pretty inadequate. So… I did it my way!

I hope you enjoy this. It's my first try at a smutty scene…and apparently I did pretty good, so, bonus!

Please review, and enjoy. Concrit is a blessing from the Gods, so don't hesitate to give it: keep in mind, this is my first try (I've never gone outside fluff before) so if you think anything needs word, lemme know!

1

His heart was pounding, and he didn't know why. His body knew, but his brain was still languishing in the dust, clueless. His breath was quickening. For what, he couldn't say, until a head of smooth red hair obscured his vision. He could feel ghost lips, like the sensation of wind, skitter over his own. It was déjà vu from earlier that day, when Lissa kissed him in the classroom.

If he thought his heart was fast before, it was nothing to know. He could feel it in his finger tips (and other places), throbbing incessantly.

In his mind's eye, the kiss became more needy, passionate, rough. He pulled back and looked Lissa in the eye, opening his mouth to say something; say anything.

And before his eyes, she morphed. Where once was red was blonde. Where once was green was brown. The skin was tanner, the features more symmetrical. There were sparks in these eyes.

"Max," he breathed. She closed those sparking eyes and the whoosh of air that came after was a sigh of pure and complete satisfaction.

"Say it again," she whispered quietly.

"Max." This time was with more conviction.

Her eyes snapped open. They were hazy. "Fang, I love you. Kiss me."

They were the sentences he had been dying to hear for as long as he could remember. And she wasn't even doped up.

"Always," he told her, and complied.

Kissing Lissa was nothing squared to kissing Max. Her lips were tangible and soft and warm and sweet. She tasted like sugar cookies and smelled like bubble gum. He brought his hands up to sift through her hair.

In a flash, he could now feel her long fingers dancing over his torso, slipping down, down, down and under his shirt, scratching lightly – possessively.

She opened her mouth and he slipped in, eager. She was unaccustomed to the sensation and gasped, her fingernails leaving imprints on his shoulders. Her eyes widened and he couldn't hold back a smirk, even knowing (hoping?) that it would drive her crazy.

She now seemed determined to elicit that same response from him. She followed his tongue back into his own mouth and

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Fang's eyes snapped open to the sound of the alarm clock beeping. His eyes were wide and his mind was frayed, so it took a second to remember that he was in his room, in his bed, at Anne's house, in Virginia.

He blushed. There was a whole lot of warmth and pressure ebbing down _there_.

He got up and took a long, _cold_ shower.

2

School (in Virginia)

- Math

"And when you see our key word…." The teacher waited.

"Expect," the class chorused obediently.

"Right. When you see 'expect', you know that you'll be predicting."

Fang blanched. He knew about predicting. But all he could hear was 'dic'…. Which brought him to his dream and exactly _what_ he had woken up to.

-opened her mouth-

He thought he smelled something off, and couldn't place it before he looked around and saw the girl sitting three chairs away, staring intently at her math while chomping on bubble gum.

-like sugar cookies-

Fang shook his head to clear his mind, trying to get away from the vivid flashbacks.

"Okay, so, you probably all covered this last year, but we're going to recap a bit. We all remember how to predict?"

"Excuse me can I please go to the bathroom?" Fang asked in a rush, raising his hand.

"Is this an emergency, Nick?" the teacher asked.

"Yes," he said, with conviction.

"OK, well, write out a pass and I'll sign it for you," the teacher said and turned back to the overhead.

Fang ripped out a piece of paper and scribbled 'Fa' before he remembered, scratching it out and replacing it with 'Nick – bathroom'.

"Here." He shoved the piece at the teacher, who dashed on a signature in red pen and passed it back. Fang left the darkened room and rounded the corner to the men's restroom. He locked himself in a stall and let his imagination run.

-leaving imprints-

-his tongue-

-determined to-

-warm and-

-fingers dancing-

There was pressure building steadily in his lower regions, and it felt as if his pounding heart had migrated South. There was tingling in his toes, and his ears were hot and probably red.

He was a teenage boy (albeit part bird). He knew what was coming. However, he had not anticipated it happening at school (a 'normal' one, at that) of all places.

He could feel his blush spreading across his cheeks and down his back.

-sparks in these-

-eyes snapped open-

-lips were-

-like bubble gum-

A bell rang, and on cue a cacophony of voices, loud and disruptive, filled his ears, blocking and drowning the imagined sound of erotic moaning.

Doors slammed shut and faucets ran in the men's room while mundane chatter filtered in through the haze that blurred Fang's vision and cluttered his senses.

He sat there, resting precariously on the edge of the toilet seat, as the minutes passed and the boys returned to their next class. All but one other boy and Fang himself were left as the bell rang. Fang was expecting the other boy to leave in a rush when he realized he was late, but it appeared the boy was using the bathroom excuse to his advantage, too. Fang heard him muttering to himself.

"'School work or a personal project?'" he said snidely, as if to himself, perhaps quoting someone. "What was I _thinking_?"

The door opened and the boy shut up and apparently left, and then Fang, about to release the tidal wave of hormonal imagining, heard Iggy.

"Er…Fnick?" he asked hesitantly.

Fang swallowed. "Yea?" he asked, praying his voice didn't crack.

"Oh, okay. Are you alright?"

"Um…yea. Why?"

"Well, you know, new period, teacher's paranoid and thinks you've been abducted, and we've got it with Max and you know how _she_ is," Iggy said.

"Well, er, yea. I'll be there in a few."

"'kay," Iggy said, and left.

That simultaneously unbearable, yet sinfully pleasing throbbing was gone. Fang took a moment to collect his wits, gathered his scattered thoughts, and left the room.

He survived the rest of the day with hardly any issue. But one thing he couldn't do was look Max full in the eye.

3

Anne's House (in Virginia)

The first thing Fang did when they got home was retreat immediately to his room. This seemed like a great game plan, until he realized the entire house was silent. He strained his ears to no avail, even stuck his head out the window in the hopes of catching the echoes of the kids playing. Nothing.

Fang started to get that suspicious prickly feeling on his neck and down his spine. He opened his door cautiously and slipped out into the hall, still straining to hear _something_.

He was drawn out and down the stairs by the sound of a pencil scratching on paper. He peeked his head over the banister, his senses on high alert. There was no one in the family room, or, as he looked over the other side, the dining room. But it did sound closer in that direction, so he slid quietly down the stairs, avoiding the step he knew creaked, and walked stealthily into the kitchen.

There was Max, stretched out along the countertop, wearing jeans, a grey band T-shirt, and no shoes or socks. Her feet were swaying above her body, bent at the knee, and her left hand was threaded in her hair while her right wrote steadily on the paper in front of her. He stood and watched her wile she wrote, oblivious. Suddenly, and without apparent reason, her breath hitched and she rolled off the countertop and into a standing, rooted position, facing Fang. When she registered him, she sighed in a long-suffering fashion and looked at him woefully.

"Couldn't you, like, make noise or something?" she asked him irritably.

"Why would I do that?" he asked her. She gave him The Eye.

"So I would know you were _there_," she said with an edge.

"But then I wouldn't be secretive," he joked at her.

The Eye turned more deadly.

"And speaking of secrets…where were you today?"

Fang knew he couldn't play dumb. She'd rattle off the exact time period, including milliseconds, in which he was gone if she had to.

"Bathroom," he said simply.

"Ah, see, I would believe you if a) Iggy hadn't come back with only a 'He's fine' in response to my question, and b) if you had looked at me at all today. You never look at me when you're hiding things, Fang."

Drat. He'd been caught. But he didn't know why he even entertained the idea he could get away with it with Max none the wiser. She knew him better than anyone, and since he spent so much time hiding things (feelings, secrets, injuries) she was especially adept at knowing the signs.

She was scrutinizing him as his brain scrambled for an excuse or retort or topic swap.

"So, Fang," she said again, moving her eyebrows up challengingly, and then back down. "Where were you today?"

"I told you, in the bathroom!" he said, reveling in that it was the truth.

"Then why won't you look at me?" she asked loudly, and his eyes snapped to her from where they were zoning out the window behind her, and flicked back.

"See?" she cried. "What is that? What's wrong? What are you hiding?"

"Nothing, Max! Nothing, I'm fine, you don't want to know, it's no big deal!"

"Ugh!" she cried. She slammed her pencil on the counter and stalked quickly to him, fisting her hands in his shirt. "Quit saying that! Tell," she pushed him back a large step. "Me." She pushed him back another. "What's." She pushed him back and yanked open the screen door. "Wrong!" she said loudly, and she pushed him outside and onto the grass.

Fang maneuvered around her and took several quick steps, making her move farther into the yard while punctuating each step with the words, "Nothing is wrong, Max!"

Max wedged her foot between his feet and pushed with all her strength, sending Fang careening onto his butt in the grass.

"You just admitted there was a problem!" she yelled.

Fang twisted his feet around hers while she tried to dance out of the way, and sent her crashing down, which of course resulted in an all-out wrestling match on the lawn.

4

Breathing heavily, they both paused their tussling to catch their wind. Fang was still and rigid on his back in the grass, while Max was resting on top of him, her legs straddling his waist while she looked upward, panting somewhat and flushed.

Fang grew even more immobile as he watched her, her lips, red from the exercise, parted. Her chest rising and falling deeply as she caught her breath. Her T-shirt, which had been twisted askew so that the neckline was right against her neck on one side, and about to her shoulder on the other. At her waist, Fang noticed as his eyes slid down, her grey T-shirt was grass-stained and crooked, revealing a prominent hip bone and smooth belly. Her jeans were somehow frayed slightly at the waistband. Fang felt the urge to finger it.

His eyes were drawn up again by Max relaxing her body, causing her to _press_ into him more.

Fang could feel the pressure building almost more than he could feel Max, or the crabgrass scratching his neck and in his ear. Still rigid, he sat up slowly, keeping his legs glued to the ground. Max looked down at him as he moved. Fang pressed his lips to hers, watching her close her eyes gently, then snap them open again in a flash as he pulled back. He licked his lips, almost tasting her. He swallowed. Max was looking at him still, oddly. Meaning she wasn't stuttering and running yet. Slowly, her face and ears turned even redder.

Fang's heart sank. He could tell what she would do. She would open her mouth and out would come excuses and then she would run off and the subject would be closed to discussion.

Max opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

"Fang, I, we –,"

When she said his name, he was filled with an unwarranted determination. He would not just give up. He had to make Max realize that she could not live without him (or his kisses).

He pressed his lips to hers again, as strong as before. Only now he was more urgent. His eyes widened, almost hoping she could see through them into his earnestness. He kissed her once more, grabbing his hands to her shoulders. Max groaned.

"Fang, quit it," she whined, pushing him down and following with her body. She pressed _her_ lips to_ his_, and that pressure became almost unbearable.

"You," she said between kisses, "are – driving – me – crazy!"

Fang chuckled ironically, but the sound was lost beneath a moan that rose from the very bottom of his stomach, rumbling the whole way. He felt Max smirk a bit, but it was smothered in an instant as he hit the spot with his tongue that Max had moments before.

"Mm," she said, so quiet he wasn't sure he heard right. "You taste yummy – like chocolate."

-like sugar cookies-

Fang started paying attention to everything now, committing it to memory forever, in case this never happened again.

Max smelled of a tinge of bubble gum, and Fang thought he smelled something earthy – grass, obviously, but he could smell something else, slightly sweet – Planty. Honeysuckle.

She tasted, not like sugar cookies, but of something maple-y. Like syrup.

He was hyperaware of every place her body was touching him. Her knees on either side of his ribs, her hips grinding into his, her stomach pressed so close to his own. Her breasts on his collarbone, and her lips where he wanted them most: on his own.

**So there you go – I'm probably going to write more of an ending (it feels unfinished) soon, but I'm working on how NOT to kill the feeling, **_**ja**_**?**

**Anyhoo, did anyone catch the Sam reference up there in the endish of Part 2? Hahaha…**

**REVIEW!**


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